


Beyond

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank visits Eden Club again.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 109





	Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s the same as every other time Hank’s parked outside the Eden Club; he walks through the doors and feels a rush of _shame_. At first, it was pure stigma. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen so far—that he’d resort to finding pleasure in a piece of moving plastic. Then he picked the piece he wanted and was embarrassed over that: a gorgeous young man that may as well have been half his age. Then he slowly realized that that young man could be more so much _more_ than just a warm body to slide into. It didn’t matter anymore if that heat was organic or artificial; Hank’s solved more cases in the last few months of pillow talk with Connor than the last several years of his career alone. 

He rents the same room he always does, strolls through the self-opening doors, and Connor’s sitting there in nothing but a tight pair of briefs that do nothing to hide his synthetic cock. His body’s conventionally perfect: his hard muscles, tight abs and six-pack all truly chiseled, truly sculpted. His brown hair’s loosely brushed back, a few stray strands curling down against his forehead. His dark eyes are beautiful, but they’re nowhere near empty. 

He’s not supposed to be a Traci. Hank knows that much. He’s a decommissioned prototype resold to the highest bidder—a club that thought patrons might like something with less programming. Hank understands the theory. That was his first draw too—that Connor _isn’t_ meticulously programmed in every sexual trick known to Man. Except the theory didn’t hold up; Connor’s mentioned he’s the least popular model in the entire club. 

Humans are crazy. Connor’s _gorgeous_. Hank looks down at him and feels the familiar stirring: the urge to lean in and bring their mouths together, push Connor back onto the bed and slide into his pliant body. Connor’s always ready for him, always stretched, always wet, so _lifelike._ Connor fumbles through the sex, somehow still inexperienced but eager to fulfill ‘his mission.’ _Always eager to get Hank off._ He told Hank he’d do anything for that. He’s fully dedicated. But as good as that mission feels, sometimes Hank actually prefers lying there afterwards, just _talking_. He always pays for that extra time. 

He can tell an android his cases. Connor’s insights are invaluable. Connor has an analytical mind that still has creative bursts Hank finds astounding. He’d be a better officer than half the idiots they have on the force, and Hank includes himself in that. At least since his downfall, anyway.

Hank slides his backpack off his shoulder, and Connor’s eyes instantly fall to it—he curiously asks, “Will you be using toys on me today, Lieutenant?”

Hank half wishes he were. Then he immediately feels guilty for the thought. He told himself he’d stop it, at least until he has some sense that Connor’s into it for more than just a ‘mission.’ He’s _positive_ that Connor’s sentient. There’s no going back now. 

Hank holds out the backpack, and Connor takes it without hesitation. He seems to trust Hank implicitly, which is a foolish notion. Hank knows better than most just how vile humans can be. 

But Hank doesn’t hurt anyone, human or otherwise. He’s seen the bruises and flecks of blue blood Tracis sometimes leave their rooms with. Last week he heard Reed laughing about beating the shit out of a ‘prototype sex doll,’ and Hank practically saw red. 

Connor wouldn’t say if it was him. He has privacy protocols. Hopefully that means he won’t share anything Hank says either. Hank grunts, “There’s a suit in there. Put it on.”

Connor glances up at him and lifts one neatly trimmed brow. “I’m unaccustomed to customers wanting me in _more_ clothes. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me naked?”

Hank always prefers Connor naked. But that’s not the point. Besides, he can’t think straight when Connor’s like this; it’s too distracting. Connor’s rosy nipples are already pebbled, simulating arousal, skin lightly flushed across his cheeks. He looks delectable. Hank swallows and repeats, “Put it on.”

Connor makes a thoughtful noise—another small mannerism too conscious for comfort. Then he begins pulling the stiff fabric out of Hank’s backpack. Hank means to turn away but doesn’t. He justifies it by thinking that he already knows ever inch of Connor’s naked body. So he stands there and watches Connor tug on the grey pants and button up the white shirt. He shrugs on the matching jacket and finds a tie at the bottom. Hank’s not one for ties, but he figured Connor would be. 

Connor puts it on with ease, then rises from the bed and straightens everything out, looking for all the world like a lawyer or business executive or anything _but_ a sex doll. Except for his still absurdly pretty face. But that can’t be helped. Lastly, Hank adds the baseball cap, branded with his favourite basketball team. He probably should’ve got something less conspicuous. He figures by the time anyone figures out what happened, it’ll be too late to track them anyway. But just in case there are cameras in the lobby our outside, a cap will be good. Hank steps closer to fidget with it, adjusting it to try and hide Connor’s LED as much as possible. They’ll have to get rid of that at some point. 

Connor asks, “Am I pretending to be someone else?”

“Yeah. A human.”

Connor _looks_ at him. Hank knows Connor’s smart enough to figure out that that doesn’t just mean _play a human in bed._ Connor’s so much smarter than the scummy proprietors of the Eden Club give him credit for. Hank reaches out and clasps his hand. 

Connor quietly asks, “Hank... are you kidnapping me?”

Hank bristles. He makes an effort not to get annoyed and raise his voice. “I’m _liberating_ you.”

“I’m property of Eden Club. If you want a personal pleasure android, you’ll need to deal with them.”

It’s not like Hank hasn’t thought of that a thousand times. But that’ll trace back to him too easily. The club doesn’t keep records of rentals, but it does of buyers. He looked into their finances already, scoped everything out. He’s not a _completely_ useless detective. “I’m not breaking you out to be mine. I’m just... breaking you out.”

Connor looks at him for a long, hard minute, and Hank knows that he’s such a good little android that he might just be making a call to the authorities. Except Hank _is_ the authorities. Finally, Connor nods. His fingers tighten around Hank’s, smooth and soft and full of so much potential. Hank steels himself over for the hard part. 

He collects his backpack and guides Connor out of the room. There are two human customers across hall, too distracted watching the pole dancer to notice them. The rest are all Tracis whose logs will be wiped within the hour. He paid for another two hours; no one else will be able to check in on Connor until the records are gone. Sucking in a breath, Hank walks for the door. 

Connor walks beside him, and then, just like that, they’re out in the dark and the rain. Hank doesn’t stop walking. He climbs into his car, drenching the seat, and Connor slides smoothly next to him. Hank pulls around the block, then stops again just for a second to breathe and process. It’s surreal. It was _so easy_. 

Everyone’s too confident in android obedience. But Connor leans across the passenger’s seat and pecks Hank’s cheek, murmuring, “Thank you.”

Hank grunts, “Sure,” and drives off.


End file.
